


La Petite Voleuse

by Anonymous



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Ball, F/M, Fluff, Maid!Reader, Romance, Seductive!Arno, Tea Party, arno is adorable, because I wrote it for her, but the reader's name is Mila, i hope you like it mila, written as a reader-insert, you have a bitchy boss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 01:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10177856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A request from the lovely siren1995.Arno attends a ball at Versailles in order to take out a Templar in attendance. You inadvertently help him and he thanks you later with a kiss -  several, actually.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy Mila! It was hard to write the dialogue for Marguerite and Céleste, but I hope the later bits with Arno makes up for their mean words!

"Marguerite, you look lovely!"

The pretty young woman simply smirked at her friend, Céleste's, compliment. It's not as though she didn't hear the words often enough. It was never acknowledged that your hard work was what made her appear so alluring.

It was the time you spent carefully applying makeup and fixing her hair until it was just right, or deciding which outfit would best compliment her for a particular occasion.

No, you were just her Lady's Maid. The compliments would always go to your mistress. That was just the way of things.

Maybe it would have been easier if Marguerite was a kind woman; the type who treated their household staff with respect and courtesy. But you had no such luck. To put it simply, she was a spoiled brat, who looked down her nose at you with every given opportunity.

But things weren't all bad. She'd been invited to a grand event at Versailles Palace that day. Normally you wouldn't accompany her to such an occasion, but the event kicked off with a tea party in the afternoon, and Marguerite had fussed about being outside without a parasol to protect her delicate skin from the sun. Naturally, this meant that you had to be brought along, in order to hold the parasol for her.

You held it over her dutifully, but your mind was elsewhere as she played a game of cards with her equally bratty friend, who was the host of the ball. You observed the rich and powerful as they mingled with one another, dressed in ridiculously decorated finery. You yourself had been allowed to forego your regular uniform, replacing it with a simple gown.

Although the gown was simple and not overly decorated (as was the fashion), it was still elegant and beautiful. Around the bust it fit snugly, but from the waist the skirt flared out and down to the ground. It was simply black in colour, but showed off your figure nicely.

"Mila!" You inwardly cringed at the obvious distaste in Marguerite's voice. You'd always hated the way she said your name.

"My arm is exposed!" She continued, snapping angrily. "Pay attention you **imbécile**!"

You could never outwardly defy her, but internally you rolled your eyes at her behaviour. **_Pompous_** **_brat_** , you mentally cursed her. Moving the parasol slightly, you made sure she was completely covered up.

"Honestly, I don't know why you put up with her," Céleste drawled out.

"Nor do I," Marguerite agreed, shooting you a look of pure loathing. "Perhaps I should have a word with Papa."

Her words didn't bother you, as she'd said them many times before. Yet here you were, still her Lady's Maid. She spoke nothing but empty threats.

"I even allowed her to wear a gown tonight, and she wore _that_ ," Marguerite continued, ignoring the fact that you were right there.

"So plan and boring," Céleste snickered. "It's a wonder she can dress you so well."

"She only has to pick out one of my already fine gowns," Marguerite countered. "It's not as though it requires much thought. But for a simpleton like her, perhaps the easy things are a challenge."

Céleste stifled a giggle at your mistresses comment. You let out a quiet sigh as the two noblewomen continued their card game, hoping that night would come sooner rather than later.

Your wish was not granted though, as time seemed to drag on until the sky began to finally grow dark. Your arms were tired from holding up the parasol for so many hours, and your legs were stiff and sore from standing in one place for too long.

You were relieved when the guests all began to move indoors, knowing that you would be free of your mistress for the rest of the festivities.

By that stage, the palace seemed to emanate a warm glow, no doubt caused by the thousands of candles lighting up the huge building. The faint sound of violins could be heard over the bubble of chatter, and you briefly wondered what it would be like to see inside.

"You stay out here," Marguerite ordered you. "Don't wander outside of the gardens."

" **Oui** , **Madame** ," you replied with a short nod.

In a flurry of skirts, she and Céleste were gone. You waited until everyone else had left the garden before sinking into a chair, your body grateful for the rest. You relaxed for a few moments, before spotting something familiar laying on the ground near your feet.

Reaching down, you picked it up. It was a white silk handkerchief that you knew belonged to Céleste. Checking it over in your hands, you saw that it had a Red Cross etched into the lower right corner, but didn't think too much of it.

The night wore on, and you'd eventually taken to walking through the gardens out of sheer boredom. The handkerchief was still clutched in your hands, as you'd resolved to return it to its owner later.

"A breath of fresh air is what you need, **Monsieur** ," an annoyingly familiar voice said suddenly from your left.

You looked into the direction of the palace, only to see Marguerite entering the gardens, clutching onto the arm of some poor man. When they moved into the light, however, your heart threatened to stop beating.

He was _gorgeous_! Tall and lean, but most certainly very muscular. He had long brown hair, tied back, and light stubble around his jaw line. And those thighs! Something about his strong, muscular thighs made you burn with desire. You found yourself wishing he would turn around so that you could get a good look at his ass.

You'd never been jealous of Marguerite's male company before, but something about this man was very different. You noted with satisfaction that he didn't look as though he particularly enjoyed her company, or the way she was hanging off of him.

He spotted you before she did, as he'd been glancing around, looking for something. His eyes were a warm brown that were watching you with something akin to curiosity. His lips looked thoroughly kissable, and they formed into a small smile as he stared at you.

Marguerite quickly followed his line of sight, her eyes narrowing when she spotted you.

"Come, **Monsieur** ," she said, trying to coax him away. "Let's go somewhere private."

She pressed herself against him suggestively, revealing her cleavage and running her fingers over his chest. A part of you was jealous of her close proximity to him, but at the same time you were slightly amused by his obvious discomfort with her actions.

" **Bonsoir** , **Mademoiselle** ," the man greeted you politely, his smile widening a little.

His eyes didn't leave yours, and Marguerite was clearly put out that he was ignoring her.

"Don't bother yourself with her, **Monsieur** ," Marguerite said through clenched teeth. "She's just my servant."

"Is that so?" The man asked, turning his attention back to Marguerite.

" **Oui** ," she replied, her voice taking on a seductive lilt. "Let's find somewhere to be alone."

Your hands clutched the handkerchief, as what Marguerite was insinuating made your stomach clench. You couldn't push down the jealousy you felt at the idea of them together.

Unfortunately - or perhaps it was actually very fortunate in the long run - this action caused Marguerite to glare at you angrily.

"Mila," she said, her tone was one of warning. "What have you got there?"

She didn't give you a chance to respond as she moved away from the man and strode over to you. She snatched the handkerchief away from you angrily.

"You little thief!" She hissed. "This is Céleste's! How dare you steal it!"

"I didn't -"

"Don't say another word!" She cut you off.

The man stepped closer, his eyes on the handkerchief. You couldn't quite decipher his expression, but it was obvious that he had a clear interest in the small piece of silk.

"Perhaps I should return it to her?" The man quickly interjected, taking the material from Marguerite's hands before she could protest.

"Surely she's missing it," he continued, and then began walking back towards the palace.

Marguerite gaped after him stupidly before whirling back around to face you.

"I'm not done with you," she warned. "I'll deal with you later."

And then she was going after the man, but he'd already disappeared into the crowd.

You became worried, anxious about what she would do to punish you. It had always been obvious that she disliked you, but she'd never accused you of something like theft before. Would you lose your position?

You spent what was at least half an hour fretting over your fate. Marguerite had not returned, and you weren't sure if that was good or bad.

"Well, if it isn't the little thief," an amused voice said from behind you.

You almost died from shock, quickly turning to see the gorgeous man from earlier. His clothes were slightly ruffled and his hair a little more disheveled than earlier. Your heart sank as you figured he'd certainly enjoyed some time alone with Marguerite.

"I'm not a thief," you protested. "I found it and had every intention of giving it back."

He didn't really seem to care about your answer though as he stepped closer, his eyes burning into yours.

"Thief or not, you have my gratitude," he said, stopping right in front of you.

"Why?" You asked, confused.

"Let's just say, you made my job a lot easier tonight."

That did absolutely nothing to help you understand, but he was so close to you that it was hard to focus on anything but him.

"How should I repay your kindness?" He asked, leaning closer so that his mouth was by your ear.

"I can think of a few ways," he murmured, voice low and seductive.

His lips had brushed against the shell of your ear as he spoke, causing you to shiver with desire.

"Perhaps this will suffice?" He asked, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek.

" **Non**?" He moved down to the column of your neck, leaving a trail of kisses as he did so. "What about here?"

He sucked at your flesh, causing you to suck in a shaky breath. He bit down gently before darting out his tongue to sooth the abused skin. That would definitely leave a mark.

When he pulled away his eyes were dark with lust.

"I don't know about you," he said huskily. "But I'm not satisfied yet."

His hands reached out to grasp firmly onto your hips.

"Mila, wasn't it?" He asked softly, almost as though he was seeing how it felt to say your name. "A beautiful name."

" **Monsieur** -"

"Arno," he cut you off. "My name is Arno."

Arno. You liked that. You also liked the way your name sounded coming from his lips.

"Tell me what you want, Mila," he said, pulling you closer to him.

 **You**. **I want _you_**.

That's what you wanted to say to him, but he rendered you incapable of speaking as he pressed his lips hungrily against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his and he let out a satisfied groan.

Arno pulled back slightly, his lips brushing over yours as he spoke.

"Is this what you want?" He asked.

"Yes," you whispered, almost inaudible.

"Hmm?" He pulled away slightly. "You'll have to speak up, little thief."

"Yes," you repeated, louder this time.

"Good," he hummed in approval. "I would have stolen another kiss anyway."

You heard fireworks going off, but you were too focused on Arno to really give them much attention. His lips met yours again, passionate and demanding. His left hand was moving up and down your waist, causing desire to consume you. His right hand reached up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head slightly so that he could angle the kiss better.

"Mila," he whispered breathlessly when you both broke for air.

He stared into your eyes, his gaze oddly soft but also filled with desire. You returned his gaze, marvelling at how the night had quickly turned so wonderful.

After a moment he turned to look at the fireworks, and you followed his gaze. They were beautiful, lighting up the sky with a variety of different colours. It was incredibly romantic.

But the fireworks could only hold Arno's attention for so long, and he quickly turned back to look at you. You met his gaze and he stole another quick kiss from your lips.

"I have to leave," he said. "But you are making it very hard, **ma chérie** ,"

"Don't go then, Arno," you requested.

He placed his hand on the small of your back, pulling you flush against him once again.

"I like the way you say my name," he murmured, voice filled with desire.

He kissed you slowly, his lips moving seductively over yours, before proceeding down to press several open mouthed kisses along your neck. Your fingers ran through his hair, revelling at the feeling of his lips on your skin.

A horrified scream ruined the moment, however, and he quickly pulled his mouth away from you. The commotion had come from inside the palace, but Arno didn't seem concerned. Instead he appeared to be frustrated, and he buried his face into the crook of your neck, holding you tightly against him.

"I'd stay here with you forever if I could," he said softly, pressing another small kiss to your neck. "But that's my cue to leave."

He reluctantly pulled away from you and sighed when he saw your bewildered expression.

"Don't let your pesky mistress give you too much trouble," he told you, lifting your hand in his to place a soft kiss to it.

" **Adieu** , Mila," were his final words as he quickly set off into a run, getting as far away from the palace as possible.

You stood there alone in the gardens for several moments, trying to process everything that had happened. Eventually the chaos within the palace pulled you from your thoughts of Arno.

You approached the building cautiously, wondering what had happened and what it had to do with Arno's need to depart. Pushing your way through the crowd, you came to a small room, away from the main ballroom and saw what all the mayhem was about.

Lying on the ground in a pool of her own blood was Céleste. Marguerite was in hysterics, her father holding her tightly and forcing her to look away from the scene.

You yourself were in shock, unable to fully process what lay before you. Marguerite's father spotted you and motioned for you to come over to them. You quickly obeyed.

"Mila, take her to the carriage and return home immediately," he told you.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around your mistress and leading her out of the room. The ride home was silent, with the exception of Marguerite's loud sobs.

It took a long time to settle your mistress for the night, as she wailed on about how cruel fate must be to take someone so young and beautiful. The behaviour quickly became irritating when Marguerite decided that Céleste had been granted a good death, one which would ensure that she would be remembered, and that she would always be graced with good looks and youth in those memories.

Eventually she drifted off into sleep and you were finally allowed to be alone and in your own bedchamber. When you entered your room, you were quick to get dressed into your night clothes and get into bed.

Yet, as your head hit the pillow, you felt paper instead of the soft material. Sitting up, you grabbed your candle, quickly lighting it. Sitting on your pillow was a letter, and you immediately opened it.

_Mila,_

_Already the memory of you haunts me, so don't think that you are so easily rid of me_.

_I long to feel your lips, your body pressed against mine. I desire to explore every inch of you and hear you call out my name._

_I'll see you again soon, **Petite Voleuse**. That I can promise you._

_Until then **ma chérie,**_

_Arno_.

Your heart swelled at the intimate letter. You briefly wondered how he'd found you, but pushed the thought to the back of your mind, deciding it didn't matter.

All that you really cared about were the promises in his letter, and the fact that you hadn't seen the last of him. And so, you eagerly anticipated the moment when you would be reunited with the gorgeous man from the palace ball who'd taken an interest in you.

That moment couldn't come soon enough.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The handkerchief gives Arno an excuse to approach Céleste and then eventually get her alone, allowing him to assassinate her. He is disheveled because she put up a bit of a fight, not because he did anything with Marguerite. She wasn't able to find him again. 
> 
> Not that he'd want to do anything with her anyway, and Mila was the only thing occupying his mind ;P
> 
> In case it's not obvious, La Petite Voleuse translates to 'the Little Thief'.


End file.
